


Like Lightning

by MadMags85



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Apocalypse, Happy Ending tho, M/M, Post-Season 5, We'll see what happens - Freeform, but also fluff, most likely..., probably, tons of angst, who knows honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMags85/pseuds/MadMags85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a last desperate attempt to stop the Apocalypse from happening, Sam decides to allow Lucifer to possess him. But this time he fails, and Dean is left alone to pick up the pieces. It is essentially inspired by 5x04 (The End), but things are going to turn out very differently than how it is shown in the canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic is going to be released in parts, hopefully every week or so. It is rather lengthy (as of now, and I'm still not finished with it :O) so I hope you'll stick around to read the chapters that come next! The Mature rating is largely there for the later chapters, and could be subject to change, depending on what I decide to write.  
> The title of the fic is taken from the lyrics of the song "Please Forgive Me" by David Gray. I love him, and you should too!!  
> Also feel free to check out [my tumblr](http://squirrelsintheimpala.tumblr.com) for updates or if you have questions :)

“Sam!”

No answer. Dean tried again, feeling desperate.

“Sam!”

“Sammy!”

Then louder.

“Sammy? Are you in there?”

The tall figure paused in his walk, and slowly turned around to face Dean. His eyes darkened before crinkling at the corners with a wide grin.

“Oh, he’s in here alright,” Lucifer said icily. “And he’s gonna feel the snap of your bones.”

With that, Lucifer raised his fist and sent it sailing straight into Dean’s jaw. Dean heard a sickening _crunch_ before an agonizing flash of pain burned across his face. He let out a surprised yell, and was horrified to see the pleased grin spreading across Sam’s—no, Lucifer’s—face.

“Every. Single. Blow."

Dean felt another punch, this time to his abdomen. He clutched his side and doubled over, wheezing and gasping for breath.

“We’re gonna take our time with you, Dean.”

“It’s over Dean. You lost.”

“I won.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly, pain engulfing his entire body. He summoned what little strength he had left before gasping out, “Sam. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here and I’m not gonna leave you.”

Through his swollen eyes, Dean just made out the fury as it flashed across Lucifer’s face before a searing, white-hot stab of pain shot through his ribs. He felt his breath leave him, and his vision swam before him. Looking down at his chest, he saw the hilt of a knife sticking out through his many layers of clothes. Blood poured from the wound, quickly sapping him of any strength he had left.

 _So this how it ends,_ Dean thought to himself. The entire plan had gone wrong, horribly wrong. Bobby lay on the ground with his neck snapped a couple of yards away, and Dean could still taste Cas’ blood mixed with his from when the angel had exploded before his eyes. Adam hadn’t even made it to the graveyard; he had died rather than let Zachariah force him to say yes to Michael.

And Sam. The thought of his little brother trapped in the mind of Satan himself set Dean’s teeth on edge. It turned his stomach into a writhing mass of fear and guilt that was entirely independent of the knife that now protruded from it. He should have never let Sam take this risk, never should have put Sam in this much danger. Dean could still hear his father’s voice in his head, the voice that had told him the same thing, countless times before. _Watch out for Sammy._

It was his one job, and he had failed. He had failed miserably.

“I guess this is goodbye then,” Sam’s all-too-familiar voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “Soon, your blood will drain from your pitiful body, and I will have officially won.”

With that, Lucifer turned on his heel and disappeared, taking the shell of Sam with him.

“NO!” Dean bellowed. “Sam!”

But Sam was gone. Dean could feel the tears rushing down his swollen face, mixing with the drying blood and running down his neck. The pain from all the blows Lucifer had inflicted upon him finally began to make themselves felt, and he fell to the ground in agony and grief. Dean’s strength was fading quickly now, and his blood had formed a sizeable pool on the ground. With every second that passed, his vision blurred and his breathing became more and more shallow.  _This is it,_ he thought bitterly. _Not only did I fail Sam, I failed the entire fucking human race_.

Lucifer had been gone for no more than five minutes when Dean got his first glimpse of the Reaper. It walked purposefully towards him, and he could just make out a blob of dark hair atop its blurry figure. The Reaper was approaching very quickly, so Dean knew he had a minute at best before his body gave out and the Reaper took his soul. When it eventually reached Dean, the Reaper lifted a hazy arm; its hand stretching towards Dean’s bloodied and swollen face. He closed his eyes, and could feel the warmth of the Reaper’s hand on his cheek. The pain was leaving his body now, and a sense of calm began to envelop him. Slowly, his vision began to clear, and he could make out the individual blades of grass that lay before him on the ground.

 _Well, I guess this is death,_ Dean thought to himself, a little confused. It wasn’t quite what he remembered from the time he and Sam went to Heaven and talked to Joshua. He looked up to inspect the face of the Reaper, wondering if it would offer up any last words. But when the Reaper’s face swam into view, Dean could only get out one, shocked word.

“Cas?”

Castiel looked at him, his eyes wide and concerned as he took in Dean’s battered frame.

“Yes Dean, it’s me. I am just as surprised as you at my resurrection.” He paused, taking Dean’s hand and pulling him to his feet before looking around at the cemetery. “Where is Sam?”

“He’s—” Dean felt sick at Cas’ words, and the tears began to flood his eyes again. “We—we couldn’t do it, Cas.”

Dean began crying openly as the realization that Sam was truly gone began to hit him. He caught a glimpse of the shocked look on Cas’ face before turning his head away, unable to bear seeing the angel’s pain on top of his own.

“I’m so sorry Dean,” whispered Cas as he placed a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean leaned into the touch instinctively, and the two of them stood silently for a few minutes, trying to process the events that had unfolded before them. Cas’ hand was reassuring on Dean’s shoulder, and he was grateful that he at least had the angel with him. Suddenly, a thought came over him.

“Bobby,” he choked out, gesturing to where the older man now lay on the ground, neck horribly bent in the shape of a right angle. Cas inhaled sharply as he turned to follow Dean’s gaze. Quickly, he walked over and placed a hand on Bobby’s forehead, a white light flowing from his hand and into Bobby. Suddenly, Bobby jerked up with a gasp of air.

“What happened?” he rasped, looking around wildly before his eyes landed on Dean. “Dean! Thank God you’re alive, son!”

“Actually, thank Cas,” replied Dean, glancing over to meet Cas’ eyes.

“What happened?” Bobby repeated. “Where’s Sam? Did he make the leap into the pit?”

Dean ran a hand over his face before shaking his head slowly.

“No!” Bobby’s horrified gasp broke the silence. He turned to Cas. “Is this true?”

“I’m afraid so,” Cas said tonelessly. “Lucifer has found his true vessel. Michael has not. We should prepare for the worst.”

Bobby and Cas continued to talk, but Dean found he could no longer focus on their words.  All he could see was Sam walking away from him, Sam’s face twisted by Lucifer, the look of pure terror that had been in Sam’s eyes the moment before he was possessed. Slowly, Dean began to walk aimlessly towards the trees, the visions playing on repeat in his head. He couldn’t keep himself from returning to the fact that he was the one to blame for all of this. It was his fault Sam had been possessed. If he had just gone with his gut and told Sam not to say yes to Lucifer, none of this would have happened. They could have stopped the Apocalypse some other way. _Any_ other way. Just not this.

“Dean.” Cas’s gravelly voice sounded suddenly from behind him. “We should go back to Bobby’s. Come up with a plan.”

Dean turned to look at Cas. The angel’s brow was furrowed in concern, and his familiar blue eyes seemed to stare straight into Dean’s soul.

“Right,” Dean paused, making a quick plan. “I’ll drive back by myself in the Impala, and you can zap Bobby back. I just need some time alone to think, okay?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replied. He frowned as if he were about to question Dean further, but instead chose to say, “If you need anything, just pray to me. I’ll be listening.”

“I will Cas,” said Dean. “Thanks.”

With that, Cas walked back to Bobby, and the two of them disappeared. Dean headed over to the Impala, sliding into the familiar leather seat and turning the keys in the ignition. As he pulled onto westbound    I-80, Dean could feel the calming influence of driving settle over him.

The reality of his situation finally began to hit Dean after a few miles, and he began to formulate a plan of action. He did not allow himself to think for a moment that Sam was dead or lost in any sense of the word. Instead, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the possibility, no, _reality_ that Sam was still conscious inside of Lucifer’s mind. If that were the case, then Dean figured he still had a chance of getting Sam to jump into the pit. He’d have to work fast to find Lucifer, though, before he did too much damage to the earth and humanity.

And of course, Dean mused, he’d have to do it solo. He couldn’t take the risk of hurting anyone else he cared about. Cas and Bobby had survived only through the grace of God, assuming God was still paying attention to things happening on earth. Bobby was a tough old man, but he was older and not cut out for field work anymore. Dean was pretty sure he could convince Bobby to stay safely in his house and do research. Or something.

Cas, of course, was an entirely different matter. He was Dean’s best friend, and continued to sacrifice himself for Dean over and over. Dean hated it. The guy had even been enough of an idiot to come to the graveyard and place himself in danger, and all because of Dean. Of course, his worst fears had been realized the moment Lucifer exploded Cas right before Dean’s very eyes.

He cringed at the thought. Cas had been lucky one too many times, and now it was time for Dean to get him to understand that he wasn’t worth it. But would Cas listen?

*

It was late afternoon, and Dean had been driving nonstop for thirteen hours when he finally pulled into Bobby’s scrapyard. He took a deep breath, before opening the door to the Impala and clambering out.

The moment he entered the house, he was pulled into a tight hug by Bobby.

“How are you doin’ Dean?” Bobby asked gruffly.

“How do you think, Bobby?”

“Did you drive straight down here?”

Dean nodded curtly, pushing past Bobby into the library. He scanned the room, wondering aloud where Cas had gone.

“He went out to get some supplies. He’ll be back soon. Maybe you should sit down and eat something until he comes back.”

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

“I really think you should eat something, Dean.”

“I said I’m _fine_ ,” Dean barked. “When’s Cas getting back?”

“I don’t know, Dean!” Bobby snapped back, exasperated. “Why don’t you worry about yourself for once?”

“Like hell I will, Bobby! Look where that got us! The moment I choose to stop worrying about Sam for one instant— _one instant_ —the fucking Apocalypse happens! I don’t have time—”

Dean cut off as the sound of Cas’s wings filled the air. The next instant, the angel himself was standing before them, a plastic grocery bag in one hand and an ancient-looking ceramic jug in the other.

“Dean,” said Cas, looking up at him in surprise. “You made it back safely.”

“’Course, Cas.” Dean forced a cocky grin onto his face. “Anything for you.”

Cas merely looked confused before awkwardly lifting up the hand that held the plastic grocery bag. “I purchased a turkey sandwich from the supermarket for you Dean. I think it is important that you eat to maintain your strength. I also took the liberty of getting beer and peanut butter.”

“Did ya get any pie?”

“Unfortunately, no.” As he said it, Cas managed to convey an expression of complete and utter despair. “I repeatedly asked the man at the counter, but he insisted there was none to be had. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Hey, that’s alright,” Dean replied quickly, a little taken aback at Cas’s distraught look. “Just give me the sandwich, and I’ll be fine.”

As he took the sandwich from Cas’s hands, Dean caught Bobby rolling his eyes at him.

“What?” he mumbled, taking a massive bite of the sandwich. “It’d be rude to not eat it, after Cas went through all that trouble.”

“Whatever you say, boy,” Bobby said smugly. “I knew you were hungry.”

They sat for a while in silence, with Dean chewing rapidly—so maybe he _had_ been a little hungry. Cas and Bobby eyed him worriedly from across the table. In the end it was Cas who finally broke the silence, his tone serious and controlled.

“I know this is hard, but we need to think about what our plan of action is going to be.”

Dean sighed. He had known it was going to come to this.

“First off, _we_ won’t be doing anything. This is my fault, and that means I have to be the one to fix it. I’m not gonna let anyone else get hurt because of me.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, Dean?” Bobby said, danger seeping into his voice. “I’m not about to let you go and get yourself killed by running blindly after Lucifer. We’ve already lost Sam, and I can’t afford to lose you too.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about Sam like he’s dead!” Dean snapped. “And you can’t stop me from doing this alone, okay? This is on me, not you!”

“Dean…” Cas interjected, taking a deep breath. “Bobby is right. You cannot simply dash off towards Lucifer without a plan of action and especially with no idea of how to kill him. We do not even know where he is at the moment, and trust me when I say that finding him when he does not wish to be found will be _extremely_ difficult.”

“Well, I’ll figure something out, alright? But I’ll be doing it _alone._ That’s final.”

“It is in no way final,” Bobby growled. “I am not going to—”

“Jesus Christ, Bobby, just leave me alone!” Dean yelled. He then turned his back on the two of them and stormed up the stairs. He knew he was being childish, but at this point he really didn’t give a damn. Bobby and Cas could think what they liked. Dean quickly found the old room he and Sam had slept in in the past and threw himself down onto the bed, slamming the door loudly behind him.

After a few minutes of lying on the bed, Dean began to feel the anger inside of him give way to grief. Bobby’s words about Sam being _lost_ echoed through his head, and he could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks again. This time, Dean didn’t bother holding back. Instead, he buried his face in the pillow and let the sobs rack through his tired body, not really caring if Bobby or Cas heard him. Hours passed, and Dean’s eyes grew red and raw. Exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep.

*

He dreamed of Sam’s face, twisted and torn by Lucifer, Sam screaming as he was dragged into Hell, Sam bleeding and dying on the ground, Sam getting stabbed with a knife, Sam next to him in the Impala, Sam talking, Sam yelling, Sam’s face, Sammy—his _brother_ —Sam.

“Sam!” Dean jolted awake, sweat beading on his forehead and his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He glanced wildly around the room, looking for his brother. But there was only Castiel, sitting in a chair and staring at him, brow wrinkled in concern.

“Dean.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes, letting his head falling back on the pillow. “Cas, I told you to leave me alone,” he said tiredly.

Cas ignored him, walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting down. Dean could feel Cas’s blue eyes staring at him worriedly, and the angel’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he began to speak.

“I am concerned about you, Dean.”

“Why?”

“What?” Cas looked shocked.

“Why?” Dean repeated. “Why do you even bother with me anymore Cas? We couldn’t stop it. I failed. And now Lucifer’s running around, wearing my brother’s meatsuit!”

“Because, Dean—”

“You know what? You can save it Cas,” Dean cut him off. “Whatever you say, it isn’t gonna change anything. I’m still going off to do this, _alone._ You should just leave; get your feathery ass back to heaven or something. Go away, because I don’t need you here.”

 Cas inhaled sharply, and for a moment Dean saw what could only be described as pure agony flash across the angel’s face. But then it was gone, and Cas’ expression was replaced with a stony, impassive mask.

“I see,” Castiel said coldly. Then, without warning, he disappeared. Dean blinked at the now-empty room, wondering briefly if he had been too harsh. But, he reasoned, it was better that Cas was safely up in Heaven, instead of down here on Earth.

The next morning, taking care not to wake Bobby, Dean snuck downstairs, grabbed the keys to the Impala from the table, and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demon crashed to the floor, dead. It was only after her body fell that the bloodied figure kneeling on the floor caught Dean’s attention. It was staring up at him with bright blue eyes.
> 
> _Familiar_ bright blue eyes.

 

_**One Year Later**_

The knocking on the door of his dingy room startled Dean, and he instinctively reached for the gun in the waistband of his jeans.

“Who is it?” he called, putting his beer down on the table and standing up.

“Just me, Benny,” a familiar voice called.

Dean relaxed instantly, yelling a brief, “Come in!” before dropping back down on his chair and taking another swig of beer. He had met Benny only a month after leaving Bobby’s, stumbling across him entirely by accident. The guy had been trying to single-handedly fight four demons, with nothing more than a _gun._ Of course, Dean had saved his sorry ass, and the two of them had been close friends ever since.

“Why are you here so late?” Dean asked. “It’s past midnight.”

“We found some signs.”

“Really?” he asked, perking up slightly. “Where?”

“Just a coupla miles north, at the abandoned library. There’s been an awful lot of thunderstorms up there, especially for this time of winter. Plus, I was passing there the other day, and I could’ve sworn I saw someone looking out of the window.”

“You sure it wasn’t human?”

“We’re the only humans around here for miles, brother. And even if it _is_ human, a little holy water ain’t gonna hurt nobody.”

Dean nodded, not really needing much convincing. “So, when do we go gank the bastards?”

“Fred and I were thinkin’ we could head up there tomorrow afternoon. It’s a short drive, and it doesn’t look like there were too many of them. If we can capture one or two, it would be great for interrogation.”

“Great,” Dean smiled slightly. “See you tomorrow, Benny.”

“Get some rest brother. You’ll need your strength.”

Dean nodded absently as Benny left, knowing full well that he would be lucky to get more than three hours of sleep tonight. It had been approximately a year since Sam had given himself over to Lucifer, but Dean still had nightmares nearly every night as if it had happened only yesterday.

But, at least he could say he was alive. The Apocalypse had brought the Croatoan virus and swarms of demons to the earth, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t already heard of that stuff. The Croats were manageable, mostly because they were rage-driven idiots. As long as a mob didn’t swarm you, you were pretty safe to just shooting them in the head and packing up.

The demons, on the other hand, were getting worse every day. With communication down throughout the world, Dean couldn’t really be sure of the total damage. But from what he had seen and heard, demons were killing or possessing any humans they could lay their dirty hands on, not bothering to make deals or contracts anymore. Dean shuddered to think of the loss of human life that had occurred because of the Apocalypse. Because of him.

His mission to find Lucifer was not really going well either. When Dean had left Bobby’s house that early morning one year ago, he had no idea where to begin looking. After Dean found Benny, he had revealed to him the bare essentials of his plan to hunt down and interrogate the demons. He wouldn’t tell Benny exactly _who_ he was asking the demons about, saying only that his brother had been possessed, and he wanted to find the demon that did it to him. As time passed, the two of them had met up with other small groups of survivors, and now their ragtag party consisted of around twenty people.

After another two hours of sitting alone with his beer, Dean cracked open the whiskey. He barely had any left, so he drank it sparingly before finally lying down and shutting his eyes. The alcohol did its trick, and Dean fell into a fitful sleep.

He woke up four hours later, sweaty and panicked, with visions of Sam in Hell still flashing through his mind. Dean felt a dull throb of pain shoot through his head, which he ignored. He was all too used to hangovers by now. The sun was barely up, but Dean rubbed his eyes and got out of bed, taking a few seconds to pull on a pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled somewhat fresh. He meandered out the door of his cottage to the dining hall, looking for something to do in the hours leading up to the raid on the demon nest.

He found what he was looking for in the form of Charlie, a nerdy girl they had stumbled upon a couple of months back in an old abandoned school. Currently, she was hunched over a very dingy-looking radio. When Dean walked up, she glanced at him only slightly, shooting him a small grin before bending back over the radio.

“Hey Dean. How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” he said grouchily.

“A good morning to you too, sunshine. Wanna see my new radio?”

Dean nodded before sitting down next to her on the bench. Charlie fiddled with the dials for a moment, muttering something about FM frequency waves.

“I think I’ve almost got it to transmit,” she said excitedly. “Just imagine how helpful this would be if you had your own walkie-talkies on raids and stuff! Communication would be _so_ much easier!”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Dean agreed. “When do you think you’ll have it perfected?”

“Oh, I’d say at least a few more weeks. I’m not _quite_ as good at this radio stuff as I was at hacking. Anyways, word is you’ve got a mission happening today?”

“Yeah. Benny thinks there’re some demons hiding out at that abandoned library.”

“Oh, excellent,” Charlie said sarcastically. “Just the thing we need more of—Demons!”

“Yeah…”

They sat and talked for a little while longer, with Dean eventually bringing stack of personal weapons over to the bench to clean and sharpen. The hours passed relatively quickly, and soon it was time to head out on the hunt.

In total, there were four of them—Dean, Benny, Fred and Toby. Fred and Toby were pretty good guys—cousins, apparently. But Dean hadn’t bothered to find out much more. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, he just didn’t really talk to people much. Not anymore.

The four of them reached the library in no more than fifteen minutes, and slowly began to scope out the area. Dean had been looking through his binoculars for no more than ten minutes when he heard Fred whisper next to him.

“Up there. Second story, window on the left.”

Dean followed Fred’s gaze, peering at the window and seeing a pair of distinctive black eyes staring out at them.

“Alright, Benny!” Dean said, giving Benny a clap on the back. “Looks like you were right, man.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Fred asked.

But Dean had no time to answer, because he was interrupted by the sound of gunfire echoing through the library. The four men looked up towards the building, and they could see pure white light seeping through the windows, which were shattering under the pressure.

“What the hell?” Benny growled, incredulous.

“Holy shit!” Fred yelled. “What the fuck is that?”

“Angels,” Dean forced out, too stunned to say anything more. He had thought all the angels were up in Heaven, waiting out the Apocalypse like the douchebags they were.

“Angels! What the hell?” Toby yelled over the noise of exploding glass. “Those things are real?”

“Unfortunately,” Dean shouted. “But whoever it is in there, they’ll definitely have important information. And we need all the info we can get.”

Benny looked at him incredulously. “So you’re saying we’re goin’ in there? Towards the _angels_?”

“Yep,” Dean nodded, pulling the door to the van wide open and hopping out.

“Alright then,” Benny said, giving a helpless shrug before getting out of the car. Toby and Fred looked at each other, then followed soon after.

The first thing Dean saw when he entered the building were the hundreds of books littering the floor. Blood coated their white pages, and small bits of paper fluttered softly through the air. Other than that, the library appeared deserted and an eerie silence settled over the shelves. Dean motioned silently for the others to spread out, and they quietly advanced into the stacks—

THUD!

A muffled noise reverberated through the building, and Dean immediately whipped his head towards it.

“Who’s there?” he called out, moving in the direction of the sounds. As he turned the corner into the next row, he saw a young woman with red hair towering over a figure kneeling on the floor. At the sound of his approach, she turned her head to reveal jet-black eyes.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” she said silkily. “I’ll deal with you later. But at the moment,” she turned back to the figure and raised her arms, which were gripping a large axe, “I’m busy with someone.”

“Like hell you are,” Dean growled. Then he struck out, throwing the demon knife deep into the small of her back.

“What the fuck was—” she had time to cry out, but then light was crackling across her body, searing her once black eyes with an otherworldly glow. The demon crashed to the floor, dead. It was only after her body fell that the bloodied figure kneeling on the floor caught Dean’s attention. It was staring up at him with bright blue eyes.

_Familiar_ bright blue eyes.

“Dean?” Cas gasped, his face pale and drained. “What are you doing here?” Then he slumped to the floor, lifeless.

“Cas!” Dean cried, running towards the angel and cradling his face in his hands. “Cas, wake up!”

Nothing.

“Benny!” yelled Dean over his shoulder. “Benny, I need some help over here!”

He heard footsteps coming towards them, and soon Benny was there, his eyes darting around the room before catching sight of the bloodied Castiel splayed across the floor.

“What’s going on here, Dean?” Benny asked. “And who’s that?”

“Never mind who he is! Just gimme some help here!” Dean cried out, panic lacing his voice.

“Whoa, whoa , whoa. Calm down brother. First thing’s first. Are there any more demons?”

“No, I ganked that last one. We don’t need to worry about _that_ right now!”

“Okay,” Benny said calmly. “Now, is the guy even alive?”

Dean inhaled sharply before replying a short, “Yes.” He looked down at Cas again, wondering fearfully if Benny could possibly be right. He had never thought of Cas as a small person, but now he seemed dwarfed by his arms _._ And he was so _still._  

Dean quickly pushed out the unwanted thoughts creeping into his mind. Cas had to be alive. He was an _angel_ , for Christ’s sake. An all-powerful celestial being who had raised Dean from Hell. Who had come back from the dead. He was Dean’s _best friend_. He couldn’t be dead because of some lowlife demon. He couldn’t.

“Just help me move him, okay! Trust me, he’ll be fine,” Dean snapped.

“Alright, alright” Benny moved over to grab Cas’s legs, while Dean helped by lifting Cas’s torso. Then the two of them proceeded to drag the angel out of the ruined library and to the van. When they arrived, Toby and Fred were waiting.

“There you two are!” Toby called. “We were just about to go in and look for you.” He paused abruptly. “Who’s _that_?”

“Ask Dean, he knows,” Benny replied.

“An old friend,” Dean said tersely. “Now, open the door so we can get him into the van.”

Scrambling to their feet, Fred and Toby helped Dean maneuver Cas into the backseat of the van. Dean immediately sat down next to Cas, still holding onto him tightly and desperately watching him for any signs of life. Benny, Toby and Fred piled into the van, and soon they were driving out of the parking lot and away from the abandoned library.

After what seemed like forever, the van finally pulled back into the camp. Fred and Benny offered to carry Cas inside, wondering where they should put him.

“Take him up to my room,” Dean offered. “He just needs some rest.”

“I dunno, Dean,” said Fred. “That axe wound on his chest looks pretty deep.”

“I _said_ , take him to my room,” Dean snapped. “I’ll look after him tonight.”

“Assuming he makes it through the night,” Fred muttered to Benny.

“What did you say?” Dean balked, an unbidden panic shooting through his veins at Fred’s words. Cas wasn’t going to die, he was an angel, for chrissakes. One lousy demon couldn’t hurt him. He was going to heal himself, just like he always did.

Except, a tiny voice at the back of Dean’s head said, this wasn’t like always. Cas was unconscious, but Cas was _never_ unconscious.

Realizing it was better to just stay quiet, Fred and Benny lay Cas down on Dean’s bed before leaving the two of them alone. Dean took a deep breath to steady himself before going to work cleaning Cas’s wounds. He unknotted Cas’s tie and then began to unbutton his shirt, fearful of the wound he would find underneath. Working quickly, Dean peeled the shirt away from Cas’s bloodied chest, inhaling sharply at the deep gash that sliced deep across the angel’s torso.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean muttered before getting up to retrieve some clean rags and a bottle of whiskey. Working quickly, he poured the whiskey over the wound and began to clean up some of the blood. Then he got out a needle and thread and began to stitch the skin back together. Cas didn’t wake up, but Dean felt relief course through him when he noticed the angel’s chest moving up and down in short, shallow breaths. Cas was alive. Thank god.

After he got the wound cleaned and bandaged, Dean began to tackle the process of Cas’s bloodied clothes. Clearly his angel mojo was diminished, and Dean didn’t want Cas working to clean his clothes when he should be focused on healing himself.  So, he’d have to change Cas’s clothes himself. No biggie. Just one guy looking out for the other. Vaguely, he wondered if Cas wore boxers or briefs…

Dean froze. Where the _hell_ did that thought come from? No way was he gonna think  that about his best friend, _especially_ not when the guy was injured and passed out helpless on his bed. Dean rubbed his face, trying to pull himself together.

“I’m gonna put you into something more comfortable, okay Cas?” Dean said to the unresponsive Cas as he began to tug off his shoes and socks.  Then he went to work on the trench coat, trying to move Cas as little as possible while he pulled it off. Next up was the suit jacket, and then the shirt. Dean paused, giving himself a mental pat on the back. This wasn’t too bad. Now all he had left to take off were Cas’s pants.

Shit. Cas’s pants. Dean could feel his face heating up, even as he desperately told himself that he would never want to be doing this if Cas wasn’t injured and didn’t need his help. Hands shaking slightly, Dean fumbled for Cas’s belt buckle. It slid off easily, so Dean proceeded to undo the zipper. As he tugged them off the angel’s hips, he couldn’t help but notice the bright white boxers Cas was sporting. Mystery solved!

Damn it. Dean really had to stop. Right now. It would probably be better for the both of them if Cas had _some_ clothes on when he woke up, so Dean walked over to where his duffel bag lay and dug out his ancient Led Zeppelin t-shirt. It was the cleanest thing in the bag, and pretty damn comfortable, too. Dean tugged it over Cas’s head, feeling a small jolt of pleasure at the sight of Cas in his clothes. Led Zeppelin suited him. Smiling to himself for the first time that day, Dean pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed.

Now the only thing to do was to wait for Cas to wake up.

*

Some hours later, Dean felt something stir beneath his head. He groggily opened his eyes, and realized he must have fallen asleep next to the bed with his head resting on Cas’s arm.

“Cas?” he whispered gently. “You awake?”

“Yes,” Cas replied, the word sounding hoarse and strained. Upon hearing Cas’s voice, Dean moved his head up in order to see the angel properly, his forehead wrinkling in concern at the sight of Cas’s pale, haggard face. He stayed that way for a few beats, just gazing into Cas’s eyes wordlessly. Finally, Dean remembered himself, and awkwardly broke the stare.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked softly.

Cas furrowed his brow, assessing his injuries. “Better. But I am having trouble focusing my grace, and am still extremely tired.” Cas cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time since I saw you last, Dean.”

“Cas…” Dean sighed, running his hair through his hands nervously. “You know I never meant all that shit I said to you. Sam was gone, and I was just being a dick.” He paused briefly, trying to collect his thoughts before speaking again. “But that doesn’t change the fact that being around me is a recipe for death. As soon as you’re healed up, you’re gonna have to fly away from me as far as possible.”

Castiel just looked at him, taking a deep breath before saying, “I wish it were that easy, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is my grace has been fading for some time now. Heaven seems to have closed itself off, so each time I try to use my power, it’s diminished further. After I heal myself, I fear I won’t have much left.”

Dean looked at him, eyes widened in shock. “You mean…you mean you won’t be an angel anymore?”

“Y-yes,” Cas whispered, seeming to deflate right before Dean’s eyes. “I’ll be such a burden Dean, I’m so sorry.”  A few tears had begun to run down Cas’s cheeks, and the sight of them made Dean feel like he had just been punched in the gut.

“No Cas. No, don’t say that,” he soothed, moving forward to sit next to Cas on the bed. “That’s not true. You know that.”

“Do I?” Cas asked as he shook his head, tears still falling silently from his eyes. Dean took a small rag from the pile that still lay on the ground next to the bed and used it to carefully wipe away Cas’s tears. Then he tentatively placed an arm around Cas’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. Cas reacted instantly, turning towards Dean and burrowing his head into his chest. Dean could feel the shirt getting wet from Cas’s tears, but he just pulled the angel closer, rubbing small circles on his back.

“You’re my best friend, Cas,” Dean said. “Not just some weapon to use against the demons. If you’re losing your grace, then you can stay here for as long as you need. Okay?”

Castiel nodded, gripping Dean’s shirt tightly as his breathing slowly began to even out. The two of them just sat there in a comfortable silence until Dean felt Cas’s death grip on his shirt loosen. He looked down to see the angel snoring softly, fast asleep. Smiling to himself, Dean wriggled around to adjust their position before lying back on the pillow and letting his own eyes slide slowly shut.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit. Dean cursed his brain inwardly. He had thought he was getting over those sorts of thoughts, after having over three years to deal with them. When he had first met Cas in that warehouse all those years ago, his first thought had been somewhere along the lines of, “Damn! For a monster, he sure has nice eyes.” But now they were friends, and Dean was most definitely not about to lose his best friend based on a couple of fleeting impulses. Cas was too special for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So, obviously my updates are nowhere near consistent. Between GISHWHES and the general event of summer, I've just been too lazy to post anything.   
> Until now.  
> Hope you enjoy it :)

Over the next few days, Cas slowly began to return to normal. That is, if slowly losing one’s angelic grace and entire sense of self-worth could be considered normal.

At least he wasn’t sporting injuries from the fight with the demon anymore. Dean had introduced Cas to Benny, Charlie, as well as the rest of the folks hanging around their makeshift base, and they accepted him readily into their ragtag group. Of course, none of them knew the truth about Cas’s identity as an angel of the Lord, but that was exactly how Cas and Dean intended to keep it. Dean wasn’t sure what Benny and the others would do if they found out God had essentially abandoned them, and that the angels were hiding up in Heaven. He figured it was better if they just believed that there was just an excess of demons in the world at this point in time.

Dean hadn’t really talked to Cas about his plans for Lucifer, or what had happened in the past year, and he was pretty comfortable with that. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew he would have to talk with Cas eventually, but right now he just let it sit. Cas was already struggling to deal with the crap of becoming human, and Dean wasn’t gonna force any more shit on him just yet.

As it turned out, Cas was the one to bring it up with Dean, not the other way around. He came into the dining hall one grey, rainy morning, looking somewhat confused as he experimentally chewed a slice of bread.

“How’s the toast, Cas?” Dean called, waving Cas over to sit with him.

“Not bad,” Cas replied. “I am slowly getting used to this _eating_ business. I find I especially enjoy the taste of bread with peanut butter.”

Dean just grinned, then began digging unceremoniously into his plate of scrambled eggs. Fred had recently found a flock of chickens wandering about, and Dean couldn’t get enough of the stuff since.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence that was broken only by the sounds of Dean’s fork on his plate, Cas cleared his throat.

“Dean, we need to talk.”

“Yeah, sure man. What’s up?” Dean replied, wondering what Cas could be getting on about.

“Not here,” Cas said, glancing around at their fellow diners. “In private.”

“Um, okay. Outside?”

Cas nodded, getting up from his bench and leading Dean out the door of the dining hall. Eventually they stopped under a large oak tree, the leaves providing them with some protection from the rain.

“What have you been doing for the last year, Dean?” Cas asked. “Are you anywhere nearer to finding Lucifer?”

“No,” Dean said, tensing up. So _this_ is what Cas wanted to talk about.

“And you haven’t told anyone here who you’re really looking for?”

“No,” Dean shrugged. “They just think I’m huntin’ normal demons. Honestly, I don’t think they have any idea about the real scale of things.”

Cas sighed, and was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts.

“Have you thought about what you will do when you finally _do_ find Lucifer?”

“You mean about Sam?” Dean snapped, annoyed at Cas for bringing up the exact topic he most wanted to avoid.

“Yes. Sam is Lucifer’s vessel. When we find Lucifer, it will be Sam’s body you will see.”

“You think I don’t know that Cas? You think I haven’t thought about that every night for the past year?”

Cas opened his mouth to protest. “That’s not what I meant—”

“Oh yeah? I know exactly what you _meant_ to say Cas. You’re thinking I won’t have the guts to do it! You’re worried about your own damn hide!” With that Dean turned to go, but he was stopped short by a hand on his coat sleeve.

“Dean,” Cas growled, his voice dangerously low. “I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about _you._ ”

“Oh yeah? Well—” Dean cut off, Cas’s words only just registering. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I said,” Cas replied impatiently, “I am worried about you.”

“Oh.” Dean’s brain faltered. Cas wasn’t angry with him for screwing up? For basically making him fall from Heaven? For starting the fucking _Apocalypse?_

“Right, well,” Dean coughed. It was good to know Cas didn’t hate him altogether, but that didn’t mean he was about to spew out _feelings._ “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. Considering.”

Cas nodded silently, clearly wanting to delve into the subject but also cleverly recognizing the telltale signs of a Dean Winchester shutdown.

“So,” Dean pressed on, eager to change the subject, “Got any ideas on how to get rid of the bastard?”

“Well, do you still have the four Horsemen’s Rings?”

Dean shook his head glumly. “Nah. Couple months after I failed, Death came back all pissed and demanded his ring back. I don’t think there’s any way in hell he’d give me back that ring.”

“Even if he did, it is hard to imagine that Sam has any form of conscious thought anymore,” Cas added. “And we cannot force Lucifer to jump into the cage by ourselves.”

“So you’re sayin’ we’re screwed?”

“No…” Cas paused thoughtfully. “There may be another way. But it would be very difficult to find...”

“So?” Dean said. “What is it?”

“An archangel blade. But I have no idea where to start looking for one, let alone if it will even work as a weapon against Lucifer.”

Dean nodded, feeling a small glimmer of hope, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since before Sammy gave himself over to Lucifer. “Well, Gabriel sure seemed to think it would work, back when he was still alive. I’d say it’s the best plan we’ve got.”

Castiel gave Dean a small smile, “It’s the only plan we’ve got, Dean.”

Dean just rolled his eyes, turning away from the tree in order to head back inside. “Don’t rain on my parade just yet, Cas.”

Cas frowned, jogging slightly in order to catch up with Dean. “What does that mean? Dean, I do not understand that reference!”

“Dean, it’s already raining and there are no parades in sight!”

“Dean!”

*

As the weeks progressed, their plan to find the archangel blade and kill Lucifer seemed to remain just that—a plan. Dean continued to hunt and kill demons with Benny and the rest of the guys, but none of the demons seemed to know anything about the possible location of Lucifer or the archangel blade. It should have depressed Dean even more, which was why he was surprised to realize he was feeling the best he had since Sam’s agreement. Not _happy_ , exactly, but okay. His obsession to find Lucifer wasn’t the only thing keeping him going anymore, Dean realized. He had his best friend back. He had Cas.

Which was exactly why Dean pretended not to notice that Cas was getting quieter each day, or that he seemed to be drunk or about to get drunk more often than not. Dean didn’t want to deal with any more crap, so he let him be, halfheartedly telling himself that Castiel would snap out of it eventually.

The found themselves slipping into a routine. Dean kept hunting demons and Cas stayed back at the camp doing god knows what. Dean tried to encourage him to help Charlie with her radio project, which was close to being done, but Cas just shrugged and muttered a non-committal “Maybe.”  Cas was hanging by a thin thread, and looking back, Dean supposed he should have been ready for Cas to snap.

It happened one day after a particularly bloody demon hunt, when Dean was walking back to take a much-needed shower. As he headed down the hall to the showers, he heard Toby’s voice coming from one of the storage rooms.

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll take all your pain away.” Frowning, Dean peered around the corner and into the room where Toby was. Except Toby wasn’t alone. He was standing opposite to Cas, and handing him what looked like a bottle of pills. When Dean saw the pills, it seemed as if everything went to slow motion. Slowly, he saw Cas take the bottle from Toby, and images of a drugged-up Cas from the 2014 Zachariah had shown him flashed through his mind. Dean felt sick, bile rising in his throat.

No. He was not going to let that happen to Cas. Wasn’t gonna see his angel change into some drugged up hippie; a shell of what he was. So Dean did the only thing he could think of—he barged into the room and started shouting.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Cas?” he yelled, panicked. Cas looked up at him, shock flashing briefly across his face before he replied stonily.

“It’s none of your business, Dean.”

Dean pointed at Toby. “You. Get out. Now.” Toby left quickly, looking somewhat sheepish. Dean took a deep breath, then walked over to Cas and snatched the bottle of pills out of his hand.

“And you,” Dean said, turning on Cas, “I told you to never change. So what the fuck do you think you’re doing by taking pills from Toby?”

“Don’t you see?” Cas said tonelessly, looking down at his feet. “I _have_ changed. Only a small portion of my grace remains. I am essentially human. I can’t fly, I can’t fight, I can’t heal, or else I risk losing what little grace I still possess. I’m useless!”

“Cas…” Dean forced out, feeling awful. His angel had been feeling like shit, and he had stood by and done nothing, clinging to his own selfish desires. Some friend he was. He had to fix this, had to make sure Cas was gonna be okay.

“Well, I’m human,” Dean said slowly. “Do you think I’m useless?”

“Of course not.”

“So why do you think you’re useless?”

“Because I am,” Cas stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You go out and hunt every day, Dean. You are actually looking for Lucifer, for the archangel blade. But I just stay here, doing nothing. Of course I’m useless.”

Dean stared at him, not knowing what to say. So instead, he walked over and hugged him. Immediately, Castiel stiffened under his arms, and Dean began to pull back, wondering if he had done the right thing. But then Cas reached out and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, drawing him back in and squeezing tightly.

Eventually, Dean spoke. “You’re not useless to me, Cas. I keep you around as more than just a demon-smiting machine. You know that, right?” Dean let out an uneasy chuckle, feeling his face flush slightly at his impulsive actions. “But if you really want, I can teach you how to fight and shoot like a proper hunter.”

“Really?” Cas asked, voice muffled against Dean’s chest.

“Yeah,” Dean replied gruffly, holding onto Cas for a little longer before finally letting go.

“I like hugging you,” Cas observed, to which Dean let out a nervous snort. “Before, when I was an angel, it just seemed like a foolish human tradition, but now I think I understand why you do it. It is a very comforting act.”

Dean looked down, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. “Yeah, Cas,” he mumbled. “I’ve, uh, I’ve gotta go shower now. Um, I’ll, uh, see you at dinner. To eat. Food.” With that, he stumbled backwards out of the room, awkwardly bumping into a small table on his way out.

Of course, what Dean couldn’t admit to Cas, could barely admit to himself, was that he liked hugging Cas, too. Cas was warm, solid, _safe_. And reeeally fucking attractive.

Shit. Dean cursed his brain inwardly. He had thought he was getting over those sorts of thoughts, after having _over three years_ to deal with them. When he had first met Cas in that warehouse all those years ago, his first thought had been somewhere along the lines of, “ _Damn! For a monster, he sure has nice eyes.”_ But now they were friends, and Dean was most definitely _not_ about to lose his best friend based on a couple of fleeting impulses. Cas was too special for that.

Dean shook his head, burying his feelings for Cas deep inside his mental lockbox. Besides, he had more important things to worry about, like teaching Cas how to shoot and figuring out how to find an archangel blade.

True to his word, the next morning Dean walked out to the woods before breakfast to set up a makeshift shooting range for Cas. Dean really wanted to make sure that Cas felt as if he had a purpose and a place within their little group, and if teaching Cas how to fight was the way to do it, then he would. Besides, it was a great excuse to spend time with him. Not that Dean needed an excuse, obviously. They were friends. Friends could go shooting together any time they wanted. No excuses needed.

As Dean arrived in the dining hall, he caught sight of Charlie waving him over to where she sat, surrounded by piles of wires and tools.

“Dean!” she called. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this radio. I think I’ll have it finished by today.”

“Can’t a guy grab a cup of coffee first?” Dean whined, rolling his eyes at Charlie. In response, she held up a mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal.

“Already thought of that. Now park your butt over here.”

Grinning slightly, Dean plopped himself on the bench across from Charlie, cramming a giant spoonful of cereal into his mouth as he did so.

“So, how goes it?” he asked through a large mouthful of food.

“Well,” Charlie began excitedly. “I finally have everything in order for it to be a proper, working radio. The only thing that’s missing is the fact that we don’t have anyone we can communicate with. So, I thought I’d ask you if you knew of anyone who may be transmitting. I mean, obviously if we wanted we could give people radios, but I thought it would be better if maybe there was someone you already knew. But if not, no worries…”

“Actually…” Dean mused, a sudden thought striking him. “There’s Bobby.”

“Who?”

“Bobby!” Dean repeated, excited now. “He’s like an uncle to me. Used to run the phones, ya know? Fake FBI and all that. But I think he mentioned once that he had some sort of emergency radio. I’d have to think about it for a little more, but I betcha we could contact him.”

Dean continued to ramble on for another half-hour, telling Charlie all about the research books Bobby had, the times he and Sam had spent at Bobby’s as kids, the hunts they had gone on together.

“Man, I miss those days, ya know? Never thought I’d miss getting’ sore and dirty hunting monsters,” he chuckled halfheartedly, “but compared to this demon crap we’re in nowadays…” Dean trailed off, staring down into his mug of coffee. He remembered that terrible night one year ago, when he had left Bobby’s without as much as a goodbye, as well as the terrible crap that came afterwards. It was doubtful that Bobby would forgive him easily for everything he had done, if they actually managed to contact him.

“I know,” Charlie said quietly, reaching out to squeeze Dean’s hand reassuringly. “I know.” They sat silently for a moment, lost in thoughts of the past.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” said a familiar voice just behind Dean. Dean jumped in his seat, quickly whipping his head around to see Cas standing less than a foot from his ear.

“Jesus Cas!” he yelped. “I swear, one day I’m getting you a goddamn bell!”

Charlie burst out laughing, chocking out something about Dean’s face looking like a deer in the headlights in between gasps. “You should have seen your face!” she snickered.

“Oh, shut up,” Dean grumbled, frantically racking his brains for a good comeback but coming up with nothing. He looked up at Cas desperately, but the angel merely looked confused at the spectacle before him. “C’mon Cas,” Dean said, standing up and tugging on Cas’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Oh yeah,” Charlie scoffed, sticking her tongue out at him. “You go have fun on your little shooting date. Meanwhile, I’ll stay and help _save our lives_ with this radio.”

“Wha-what?” Dean spluttered, feeling his ears turn red. “Who said anything about a date? We’re not dating. It’s not a date. Just shooting. Not—”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down buddy. I’m just messing around,” Charlie cut him off, surprise lacing her voice. Dean watched her as she spoke, and was mortified to see an expression of sudden understanding come over her face.

“Er, yeah, um,” Dean stuttered, feeling a bit lightheaded. “Bye. Um. Let’s go, Cas.” With that he marched out of the dining hall, the full force of his embarrassment hitting him. Was he really that obvious? Did Charlie know? Even worse, did _Cas_ know?

No, Dean reassured himself. Cas couldn’t know, there was no way in hell he could pick up on all that nuance. The guy used air quotes, for Pete’s sake. But Charlie…Dean sighed. She could be problematic.

“Are you and Charlie a ‘thing’?” Cas’s voice pierced through the veil of his thoughts.

“Whaa?” Dean got out, shocked. Where had that come from? “No! No way man!”

“Oh, I thought…You do talk to her a lot.”

“Wait…” Dean said, his mind whirling. “Do you _like_ her? She’s gay, you know!”

“No,” Cas sounded sheepish. Dean looked over to see a _blush_ spreading across the angel’s face. He had never, ever seen Cas blush.

“You do!” he exclaimed, incredulous.

“No,” Cas said forcefully, glaring at Dean. “I assure you, she is _not_ my type.”

“Okay, whatever man,” Dean backpedaled, a little taken aback at Cas’s intensity. “Let’s go shoot some tin cans.”

They had arrived at the makeshift shooting range, and soon Dean involved himself in teaching Cas the basics of guns, their awkward conversation all but forgotten. As Dean had suspected, Cas was kind of a natural when it came to understanding the machinery behind the guns. He was able to load, reload, and flip the safety just as easily as Dean could after a bit of practice. However, once he actually point and shot the thing, it was a disaster.

“Hey, that one came close to the target!” Dean said, after Cas’s shot hit a spot on the ground a good twenty-five yards from the bulls-eye that was spray painted onto one of the larger trees. Unfortunately, Dean’s feeble attempt at positivity was clearly not working. If anything, Cas just looked more crushed, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

“It’s no use. I can’t do this.”

“Nah,” Dean said quickly. “Come on, no one gets it right on their first try. Have another go.”

“That was not my first try, Dean,” Cas said stodgily. “It was my forty-second. I have been counting.”

“Just…” Dean let out a huff of amusement. “Just give it another go, Cas.”

Grumbling to himself, Cas squared his shoulders and raised the hand that held the gun. Giving Dean one last stony look, he pointed the weapon towards the target and squeezed the trigger.

With a loud cracking noise, the bullet hit a rock.

“I told you I couldn’t do it,” Cas said, his eyes trained steadily towards his feet in front of him.

“Well, I don’t believe you,” Dean said, determined that Cas would leave having hit at least some portion of the target. “Look, it’s all in the stance. If you’d just spread your feet out a little, and hold your arms steadier…” Dean trailed off. He knew exactly how this would work in the movies. Cas would want help with the gun, and then Dean would get to reach out and hold his hands steady, or give instructions by whispering in Cas’s ear. Hmmm…. He paused. Not actually a bad idea. Plus, Cas probably had never seen any movies like that before, so he wouldn’t realize what Dean was about to do was incredibly cliché.

Taking a deep breath, Dean walked up and placed his arms on either side of Cas’.

Immediately, Cas stiffened under Dean’s touch. “What are you doing?”

“Helpin’ you learn to shoot,” Dean answered, tentatively bringing up both of Cas’s hands to aim the gun. When Cas made no move to pull back, Dean bravely scooted a little closer, feeling a surge of triumph when he got near enough to feel Cas’s back pressed against his own chest. He shuffled them around a little, making sure that Cas’s feet were planted firmly on the ground.

“Now,” he whispered, entirely too aware of how close his mouth was to Cas’s ear. “Just line up the sights, and aim at the target. You want your front sight to be just a little lower than where you wanna hit.” Dean angled the gun slightly, moving Cas’s arms to show him how to hold the gun straight.

“See how they line up?”

Cas nodded, his hair tickling Dean’s nose as he did so. “Can I shoot it now?”

“Yeah, if you’re ready,” Dean said. In response, Cas squeezed the trigger and the gun went off with a loud bang. An instant later, a bullet hole lay just within the outer range of the target.

“I did it!” Cas exclaimed, turning around to face Dean. His blue eyes glittered with joy, and Dean couldn’t help but stand there and stare back, grinning like an idiot.

“Told you so,” Dean retorted, still smiling broadly at Cas. It was the first time he had seen Cas truly happy since he had found him in that library, and he could feel warmth seeping through his chest at the sight of Cas beaming up at him.

“You are a great teacher,” Cas said, looking at Dean seriously. “Should we plan to continue practicing until I master firearms?”

“Yeah, ‘course Cas,” Dean replied, giving him a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “Anytime. But now, whaddya say we go and take a break?”

Cas nodded, and the two of them headed back inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Dean woke up for the first time in a week without a hangover. He figured it was time to stop sulking and actually get some stuff done that he needed to do. That, and he was out of alcohol.

The months passed much the same as they always had—full of disappointment. Charlie couldn’t reach Bobby on his radio. The demons they caught knew nothing. Dean still dreamed of Sam nearly every night. But the worst was Sam’s face was fading with each passing dream. In the dreams, Dean would squint his eyes, shake his head, do anything to pull Sam’s face from the mist that surrounded it. But it remained a blur, and that terrified Dean. He woke up shaking, not because the memories were too much to bear, but because the memories of Sam were disappearing. . The only bright spots amidst the constant wave of frustration and regret were the days in which he and Cas went out for shooting practice.

“How is everything?” Cas asked him one late afternoon.

“Fine,” Dean said curtly, eager to end the conversation before it started.

Cas frowned, clearly not convinced. He took a few shots at the target before turning to Dean again. “You aren’t thinking of handing yourself over to Michael again, right?”

“It’s not as if he’d do it, anyways,” Dean scoffed. Sure, he had tried saying yes to Michael, had tried it just a few weeks following Sam’s fall. Desperate, he had screamed at the sky, _I give up, you bastard. Come and get me._ But Michael didn’t even have the courtesy to say no. Instead he had remained silent, leaving Dean alone and helpless.

“We, we can’t know for sure…” Cas trailed off, comprehension dawning on his face. “You already asked him, didn’t you?” he exclaimed.

Dean felt his stomach clench up with dread. He had sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to tell Cas about the stuff with Michael. Afraid of the fury he knew he would see on Cas’s face, Dean merely looked down at his feet and remained silent.

Unfortunately, the silence was more than enough for Cas to realize the truth. “How could you do something like that?” he growled, anger coating his voice.  “After everything…”

“Well, it didn’t work, okay!” Dean snapped, angry at himself more than anything. He turned his head to look at Cas, shuddering at the savage expression he saw on the angel’s face. Castiel stared right back, blue eyes cold and steely.

“You are not to consider that again,” he said with finality. With that, he walked off.

Dean watched him go, slightly numb. He still remembered Cas’s reaction the last time he had tried to say yes, the way the angel had beat him until his face was raw and bloody. He knew that Cas was more affected by the revelation than he had shown, and for that, Dean was sorry. But he did not regret his attempts, would still gladly say yes if Michael ever did come. The Apocalypse was still his fault, and nothing could change that.

Cas may have made life more bearable, but that didn’t mean that Dean could just give up and pass the responsibility on elsewhere. He owed it to Sam, if no one else. Sam, who given everything to stop Lucifer. Sam, who even now was trapped inside the mind of the Devil.

_Watch out for Sammy,_ his dad had told him. Dean had gone and done a piss-poor job of that. And managed to throw in screwing the entire planet, as if failing at his one and only responsibility wasn’t enough. Before the power went off Dean had spent many a night in motel rooms, a beer in one hand and a remote in the other, watching the television. He had hated watching it, but couldn’t _not_ watch it, couldn’t bear not knowing the exact extent of the damage. The news had been the only thing on in those days, producers constantly finding their TV shows cut off by breaking news from some part of the world. Tsunamis, earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, you name it. It had all happened somewhere, had all happened everywhere, all because of Dean and his fucked-up plan. It was almost a relief when the power went out for good.

*

To make matters worse, Castiel didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. Or the day after that. Or the next. Dean made a few halfhearted attempts to talk to him, but each time Cas walked away before he could get out more than two words.

So, Dean did what he did best. He holed up in his room and drank away his problems. Cas still didn’t speak to him. After a few days, his alcohol supply was dangerously low at one bottle of whiskey and a can of beer. Not really caring much, Dean had the beer for lunch, and the whiskey for dinner. Cas still didn’t speak to him. Dean headed up the stairs and passed out on his bed.

The next morning, Charlie spoke to him. Rather loudly.

“What the hell is going on Dean?” she shouted. Dean groaned, pain splitting his skull open at the sound of her voice.

“Go ’way, Charlie,” he slurred, covering his head with the pillow.

“Nope.” Dean suddenly felt a cold breeze on the backs of his legs, and realized Charlie had yanked off the frayed blankets he had been burrowing under. Grudgingly, he lifted his head from the pillow; turning to glare at Charlie with what he hoped was his best death-stare.

Oddly unfazed by his icy glare, Charlie handed Dean a mug of coffee and gave him a sympathetic look.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s the matter?” she asked. “You’ve been moping around for days.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Dean muttered. He took a long sip of the coffee, hoping it would somehow make Charlie forget why she was there. Maybe she would leave. Dean continued to chug the coffee, staring down towards the bottom of his mug. Unfortunately, Charlie did not leave.

“Is this about Cas?” she asked tentatively.

“No!” he yelped, perhaps a little too quickly. Charlie’s eyebrows shot up about ten feet, and Dean promptly resumed his attack on the coffee. He felt Charlie’s eyes boring into him, but there was no way in hell he was going to give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze. His hung-over brain was floundering desperately, _sheknowssheknowssheknowssheknowssheknowsSHEKNOWS_ flashing in bright neon letters repeatedly.

“Okay,” Charlie said slowly. Dean could practically _hear_ the gears turning beneath her flaming red hair. Quickly, he cast about for a way to distract her.

“So!” he said enthusiastically. Charlie frowned, but he cut her off before she could say anything. “Have you managed to hear anything from Bobby?”

“No,” Charlie said, still clearly distracted. Dean pressed on. “Well, why not?”

“He probably just isn’t there to receive the transmissions,” Charlie explained. “I’m working on a way to send a steady stream of signals, that way we’ll be sure to reach him eventually. But until that’s done, I’ll usually just send out a signal at eight o’clock every night.”

“Good, good,” Dean said absently, pleased his diversion had worked. “I’m gonna go get breakfast now. Bye!”

“Wait!” Charlie yelled, coming back to her senses. But it was too late, and Dean was already speeding down the stairs. “Gotta go, Charlie!” he called over his shoulder. “Let me know when you hear from Bobby!”

Suddenly, Dean crashed into something solid and warm. He felt his breath go out of him with a soft “oof” and looked up to see Cas staring directly at him. Immediately, his heart rate tripled and he felt a lump form in his throat. “Hey Cas,” he got out, hoping desperately that Cas would say something back.

Instead, Castiel just nodded curtly before vanishing up the stairs and away from Dean. Dean felt heart clench with disappointment, crushed that his angel was still ignoring him. Dejected, he headed down to the dining hall, hoping that no one would want to stop and talk.

Fortunately for Dean, the dining hall was empty. He grabbed a loaf of bread and set about boiling water to heat up his coffee, noting that their food supplies were running dangerously low. He would have to send a group out to look for food within the next couple of days.

As he ate his meager breakfast, Dean’s thoughts drifted back to what Charlie had said about contacting Bobby via radio. Of course, he was thrilled that he would finally be able to check up on Bobby and see how the guy was doing, but at the same time he was terrified of what Bobby would say when they finally talked. If they talked. Dean didn’t want to think about it, but a tiny part of his brain still asked the obvious, _what if?_ What if the words he had said to Bobby on that terrible night were the last words he ever said to him? What if Bobby had gotten in some sort of fight, had died never knowing what happened to Dean? Shuddering, Dean pushed the unwanted thoughts from his mind, firmly telling himself _no,_ Bobby was most definitely _alive._ The guy could take care of himself. He had a panic room, for Chrissakes.

Regardless of his worries about Bobby, Dean still balked at the thought of facing the old man, knowing full well that Bobby would not forgive him easily for leaving at the crack of dawn without so much as a note. He knew it would have caused Bobby a lot of worry to wake up and find him gone, which would not aid him in gaining forgiveness. But, Dean figured, at least some contact with Bobby would be better than no contact at all. Plus, he was fairly sure that Bobby and his books would be an immense help when it came to figuring out how to kill Lucifer. He was still no closer to finding an archangel blade, but maybe Bobby could find a better, more straightforward way of ganking the Devil.

Sure, if they actually had an archangel blade, it would be (relatively) straightforward. But, Dean reminded himself, they didn’t. The last time he had seen a blade belonging to an archangel was when Gabriel had tried—and failed—to stab Lucifer in the back. And now Gabriel was dead, his blade lost with him. Dean didn’t even know where to _begin_ looking for the blade, and nor did Cas, as far as he could tell. Maybe if Gabriel were still alive they would have a better chance, but his death essentially meant that the trail was cold.

Dean put his head in his hands, shutting his eyes and drowning out his thoughts for a few moments. It seemed to him that he never managed to catch a break. Just when he thought he was doing okay, another problem presented itself, threw itself on top of the storm of troubles engulfing him. Knowing Cas was safe and alive had alleviated some of that pressure, but now Cas wasn’t talking to him and Dean felt as if he were drowning.

Eventually, Charlie found him again, still sitting at the table and staring into his empty coffee mug. She tried to talk to him, but Dean just shrugged her off, not in the mood for talking about _feelings_ , or some shit like that. That was something Sam would have done, not Dean. Instead, he pushed down his emotions and tried to bury them, just like he always did.

*

The next morning, Dean woke up for the first time in a week without a hangover. He figured it was time to stop sulking and actually get some stuff done that he needed to do. That, and he was out of alcohol. Remembering the diminishing amount of food in the kitchen, Dean found Benny and asked if he wanted to go out and get some.

Benny agreed immediately, and the two of them headed out thirty minutes later to a Costco that was nearby. The Costco essentially functioned as their storehouse—Dean had made sure to lock it up well when he first found it. They had made it through about a quarter of the store’s food, and the stuff that was left was good for years. Every once and awhile they would head out to the Costco and bring back enough food for the next month, figuring that it was better to store the food in the giant warehouse rather than at their makeshift camp. Croats and demons didn’t need to eat, so it was only other survivors that they worried about. However, survivors were few and far between, so their food supply remained safe.

When they parked in front of Costco, Dean and Benny each grabbed a gun and a giant knapsack before opening the lock and heading inside. They browsed the shelves briefly, heading back to the canned food section to pick up the usual cans of beans, fruits and vegetables.

“I hear Charlie’s been fixin’ that radio,” Benny said conversationally.

Dean hummed in agreement.

“An’ you’re hoping to hear from your ol’ pal?” Benny asked.

“Er, yeah,” Dean replied, wondering where Benny was going with this. “He helped raise us as kids. Me n’ Sammy.”

Benny nodded solemnly. Dean had told him that his brother was dead, rather than reveal the entire awful truth about Lucifer.

“Is that why you’ve been so out of it this week?” Benny asked, a frown on his face. “You’re worried that something bad might’ve happened to him?”

“What? No!” Dean said quickly. “Of course not. I’m fine.”

Benny laughed humorlessly. “You say that, brother, but somehow I ain’t buyin’ it.”

Dean remained silent, hoping Benny would drop the subject. He _really_ didn’t need Benny to know about his stupid argument with Cas. Unfortunately, Benny pushed on.

“Well, what _is_ the matter then? I ain’t blind, I can see that somethin’s been buggin you these last few days, somethin’ bigger than the usual crap you won’t tell me about.”

Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Come on now,” Benny persisted. “We’ve been through a lot, you an’ me. The least you can do is let me know what’s botherin’ you.”

“Fine,” Dean said, giving up. He would leave out the bits about Michael, but he had to admit that some advice would be good if he ever wanted to get Cas to talk to him again. “It’s…Cas.”

Benny’s brow furrowed, a look of disbelief sliding across his face. “What, that guy we rescued from the library?” he asked. “I didn’t think you knew him that well. You only just met him a coupla months ago.”

“Well, not exactly,” Dean said sheepishly. “I’ve kinda known him for a good three or four years now.”

“A good _three or four years_!” Benny repeated incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. It never came up, I guess. In any case, I did some stuff he didn’t like without telling him, and now he won’t talk to me.”

“That’s it?” Benny asked, still looking thoroughly confused. “Why don’t you just go apologize, instead of layin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself? Sounds like a bit of a foolish argument, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know what I did,” Dean said, still not convinced. “I mean, I’ve done all these shitty things, I only just found Cas again, and I really don’t want to screw things up more. What if he leaves?” he asked, his voice softening to a whisper.

Benny clapped him on the shoulder, a hint of a smile in his pale blue eyes. “Brother, from what I see here, it sounds like you’re blowin’ this way outta proportion. If I were you, I’d just make sure to suck up a lot, tell him you’re sorry, and he’ll eventually come round.”

“You think?” Dean asked, unwilling to believe that it could be that simple.

“Yeah,” Benny said confidently. “You’re a good guy, Dean. A person would have to be an idiot to not forgive you eventually. And Cas don’t seem like no idiot to me.”

*

The next day, with Benny’s advice in mind, Dean made sure to eat breakfast at the same time Cas usually did. Unfortunately,this meant waking up at the crack of dawn instead of sleeping in like he normally did. Yawning loudly, Dean trudged into the dining hall, and paused briefly to grab a cup of coffee for both himself and Cas as a sort of peace offering.

He spotted Cas sitting alone in one of the corners of the room, his hair just as messy and tousled as ever. When Cas saw Dean approaching, his eyes grew wide at first, but then his expression became unreadable. Dean swallowed and pushed down his doubts before summoning up a tentative grin.

“Hi, Cas,” he said quietly. “Can I sit here?”

Cas nodded slowly, still gazing impassively at Dean. Dean sat down.

“I, uh, got this for you,” he said as he handed the cup of coffee to Cas. Cas took it in both hands and stared to down at the contents of the mug. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Dean watched Cas drink his coffee in silence for a few minutes, trying to find the right words for what he was about to say.

“So, remember what I, um, said about Michael?” Dean began nervously, tensely watching Cas’s face for any change in emotion. Immediately after the mention of Michael’s name, Cas’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips together. Dean pressed on, his words coming out rushed and jumbled in his nervousness. “Well, I’m really, really sorry and I, um, I wanted to make it up to you so I thought maybe I could still help you with shooting today possibly, you know, if that’s okay with you.”

Dean paused, taking a deep breath and waiting anxiously for Cas’s answer. So far, Castiel had not moved a muscle, and was still staring blankly at Dean. After what felt like hours, he finally spoke.

“It’s okay, Dean. You were desperate, and I can understand that,” Dean felt a small flicker of hope glow within him. “But,” Cas continued, his voice quiet, “I don’t really think I’d like to practice shooting today.”

Dean’s heart sank immediately, reeling with disappointment. Cas was still mad at him. Distantly, he heard himself say, “Oh, sure. Of course. No problem.” Then he got up quickly, not wanting Cas to see the distress he knew was displayed all across his face.

After he left, Dean found himself in the woods, hoping a walk would calm his churning emotions. Along the way he broke off a few tree limbs, desperately trying to calm the mass of seething emotions inside him. So what if Cas didn’t want to talk with him? He had gotten along just fine without the guy, and he could do it again. Totally.

*

The next morning found Dean at the shooting range, trying unsuccessfully to distract himself from his tumultuous thoughts. He aimed the gun carefully, taking a few rapid shots. The bullets flew swiftly towards the target, each one of them hitting the center with a pleasant crack. After a while, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching behind him. Turning, he was surprised to see Cas standing behind him, a gun in hand.

“Oh. Hello Dean,” Cas said, sounding just as startled as Dean was. He made as if to turn around, muttering something about how he was sorry to have interrupted.

Impulsively, not really wanting Cas to go, Dean called after him. “No, it’s fine Cas. I was almost leaving anyways.”

“I see.” Tentatively, he moved to stand next to Dean then proceeded to aim and shoot at the target a few times.

“That was really good!” Dean nodded appreciatively when Cas managed to accurately hit the target with each shot. “You’re learning quick.” Cas bowed his head, mumbling a short thanks into the ground. When he didn’t say anything else, Dean awkwardly realized that the guy probably just wanted to be left alone. _Real smooth, Winchester,_ he thought to himself. Cas hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near Dean when he first arrived, had really only decided to stay once Dean mentioned that he didn’t plan on remaining at the shooting range for long. Recognizing the truth for what it was, Dean dolefully picked up his gun, muttered a soft “goodbye” to Cas, and walked away.

“Dean, wait.”

Dean stopped dead in his walk, not sure if he had heard correctly. He turned towards Cas, aiming a confused look in his direction.

A beat passed, and then Cas said hesitantly, “You don’t have to go.”

Oh. That wasn’t what he had expected. Mind reeling, Dean walked back slowly, wondering why Cas wanted him to stay at the shooting range. Maybe Cas was starting to forgive him? Barely allowing himself to hope for such an absurd thing, Dean remained silent, not wanting to do anything that would make Cas change his mind. In lieu of speaking, Dean decided to resume rapidly firing his handgun, feeling a small burst of pride when he hit five bulls-eyes in a row. Trying to be casual about it, he glanced over at Cas, secretly hoping the angel had noticed _that._

“How did you _do_ that?” Cas whispered, his mouth slightly open and his eyes focused on the target. Yep, he had definitely noticed.

“Lots of practice,” Dean replied, trying to sound casual despite being positively thrilled that Cas had noticed his skills with the gun. Unfortunately, the muscles in his face didn’t often listen to his mind, and Dean felt a wide grin sneaking its way across his cheeks. Quickly, he ducked his head, trying to hide how happy he was due to the simple fact that Cas was talking to him again.

“Perhaps…” Cas looked at him nervously. “Perhaps you could help me aim properly?” Immediately, Dean’s mind flashed back to all the other times they had been in this situation, all the times he had stood too close to Castiel while gently showing him how to alter the angle of his hand to become more accurate, how to use the sights on the gun to aim properly. But that was then, and this was now. There was no way Cas would want Dean that close today.

“There’s not much more I can do to help you, Cas,” Dean said, trying to keep his distance. “You’ll just have to keep practicing until you figure it out for yourself.”

Cas nodded slowly, then resumed firing. Dean sat back on the damp ground, closing his eyes and enjoying the weak sunlight that streamed towards the ground through the tree branches. The stillness in the air was broken only by the loud cracks of the gun as Cas shot bullet after bullet into the target. It was peaceful, Dean thought to himself. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed just _being_ with Cas; how calm it made him feel. Right now he could put the Apocalypse aside, could overlook his worries about Bobby, he could even forget that Cas was still barely speaking with him.

Eventually the sounds of gunfire died off, so Dean opened his eyes, wondering aloud if Cas was ready to head back inside.

“No,” Cas replied, putting the gun down and walking over to where Dean sat. “I wanted to talk with you?” He said the sentence like a question, looking at Dean uncertainly.

“Uh, sure…” Dean gestured for Cas to sit down beside him, wondering what Cas had learned that was so important. Perhaps a lead on the archangel blade?

“I wanted to apologize for how I have been acting this week,” Cas began. “I was angry, but I don’t wish to keep arguing with you.”

Dean gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like some freaky fish. This was _not_ what he had expected at all. “Oh.”

Cas looked at him painfully. “Though I do not agree with your decision to say yes to Michael, I cannot truthfully say that I don’t understand where you were coming from. You lost Sam, and believed that saying yes to Michael could have saved him.” Cas paused, as if gathering himself for what he was about to say next. When he finally did speak, Dean had to strain to hear what he had to say. “You are my only friend left in the world, Dean, and I would hate it if you threw your life away for Michael. Even in the past week, not talking to you has been rather distressing.”

“Shit, Cas.” Dean felt even worse than before, now that he realized just how much his revelation about Michael had affected Cas. “I’m sorry too. All the shit that was happening back then, I just couldn’t see any way out. Still not sure that I can, actually.” He laughed bitterly. “But I won’t be trying to contact Michael again. Promise.”

“Good.” Cas gave him a small smile. “So we are friends again?”

Dean nodded, returning the smile. “Friends.”


End file.
